Small World
by woundedbutterfly
Summary: Casey and Elliot just can't see what fate is trying to throw in their face...Chance meetings between the Detective and ADA over the years..C/E, obviously
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, I thought I'd start a simpler, standalone story. My two trilogies were getting exhausting! If there are any typos, that is because I fail at proofing. Feel free to mock me.

This story is broken into three parts, telling the story of the times Casey and Elliot have met over the years, prior to her assignment to the SVU, it should be easy to follow.

Oh, and if you're a major EO fan, lets be fair, in the synopsis, it does state that this is going to be all about the CE, so if such isn't your cup of tea, please feel free to read the many, many, _many_ EO fics out there, not just try to convince me to make this one EO. As it shan't happen.

Reviewing will make you an awesome person, and put hairs on your chest….

Disclaimer: I don't own Special Victims Unit, or any of the characters. Except ChiChi the Chihuahua, though she is free for rental to any other fics…

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_**PART ONE**_

_**2006**_

_**Vendetta**_

**From: **Olivia Benson

**Sent: **July 5th 2006 16:19

**To: **Casey Novak

_Casey,_

_Nice work today._

_Rgrds,_

_Liv_

_This is the thanks I get? _Assistant District Attorney Casey Novak thought as she relaxed into her plush leather office seat, clicking the mouse with needless malice, banishing the curt correspondence to the ethereal realms of her cluttered inbox.

She'd given everything on this case, the last three weeks her evening and weekend recreation had consisted of sitting around in her Upper West Side apartment, mainlining filter coffee with only thickly bound law journals providing her with scintillating company, as she waded through hundreds of files, in search of precedent setting cases that might lend her an upper hand. The Detectives hadn't gotten her a hell of a lot of evidence, and sometimes Casey wondered if they knew her court appearances took effort, preparation and research; it wasn't a case throw on a pants suit, show up and let Perry Mason work through you.

Often, sleep wasn't an option, as the sole prosecutor working for an overwrought division, if she was to keep up with her case load, sometimes she had to work through the night. And if it wasn't migraine inducing volumes of text keeping her up at all hours, it was the harrowing nature of the cases that landed on her desk. Sometimes Casey felt as though she had the worst, most thankless job in the world, and wondered if she was valiant or masochistic to stick at it, especially when she had worked herself to exhaustion, called in favours, and pissed off several judges and her superiors to get the guilty verdict they'd all been looking for, only to get a pat on the shoulder from Elliot as she was leaving the courtroom and a six word e-mail from Detective Benson, who hadn't even bothered to write the word 'regards' in its full form. Wanting the full complement of vowels in a congratulatory message wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

Casey sighed, toying with the tall, embossed paper cup she'd set down upon arrival, glad she'd decided to congratulate _herself _with a Mocha Latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup. She'd be flying high on artificial sweeteners and caffeine all afternoon, sure, but her colleagues were used to that at this point, and besides, it sped up her work. She shrugged off her neatly tapered jacket, a black number she'd worn to court. Casey had started to dress in more classic monochromes lately, as she had recently become aware that her favourite lime green and powder blue stylings had been the source of certain somewhat derisory in-jokes around the office, and even the precinct.

She didn't fucking need that, Casey would have hoped that whilst she was busting her ass putting away rapists and child molesters, people might cut her a break for her admittedly eccentric fashion choices, but alas, it was not so.

Casey rolled up her sleeves, and with a sip of her sickly sweet, syrup laced beverage, noting crankily that it was lukewarm at best, she dove into her emails. Self pity was not becoming on anyone, let alone fully grown Assistant District Attorneys.

Besides, Casey knew damn well it wasn't the fickle nature of workplace fashion, unappreciative co-workers or drinks of questionable temperature which had gotten her into a funk. She glanced again at the calendar. July 5th.

It was the day after Independence Day, and Twenty-two years, and one day after probably the most monumental day in her life. But she didn't even commemorate it anymore, she hadn't since she'd left home for college and was no longer obliged. Casey wasn't about to get sentimental at this late stage.

Again, self-pity just wasn't becoming, or remotely useful.

Just as Casey had nearly deleted all the chain emails and advertisements offering her longer lasting erections and miracle hair regrowth at the very reasonable introductory price of just $29.99, her phone let out a whiny trill.

It was at least a distraction.

She snatched up the handset, and muttered,

"Sex crimes."

"Uh, hi there, this is Mike Handsworth, from the Manhattan Times, I was told I could reach Cassandra Everett on this number?"

A jolt ran down Casey's spine at the mention of the name, and her mouth turned arid. She ran her free hand through her newly blonded mane, trying to decide how to respond. No one ever referred to her by her full given name, in fact, before she'd gotten her Law Degree, to avoid the trouble of saying 'call me Casey' to all she met, she'd even had her first name legally changed.

But she hadn't been Cassandra Everett for even longer.

"What's this about?" Casey asked, noncommittally.

"Is that Miss Everett?"

Casey blinked slowly, toying with the idea of slamming the phone down and forgetting all about this. Curiosity got the upper hand though.

"Yes, now what is this about and how did you get this number?" Casey asked, consciously lowering her voice as a co-worker shuffled past her glass pane door. The man on the other side of the phone sounded suddenly sheepish. She could almost see the beads of nervous sweat forming on his brow across the telephone line.

"I'm writing a piece on the Whitely Murder/attempted suicide case, you know, that lady who offed her husband and tried to do herself in yesterday? With your experience, I thought you might be able to offer some insight into the mindset of the…"

Casey cut him off, "I can't," she snapped slamming the phone down and placing her hands over her face. They were shaking violently.

Casey tried to calm her breathing, but it was no use. Her body had slipped into full-on breakdown mode, and this was the sort of problem no amount of coffee could assuage. If that reporter bastard was right, then this case was likely headed for her desk right at that moment. She glanced up just in time to see Detectives Benson and Stabler appear at her door. Quickly, she composed herself, affecting her best neutral pout, and neatening her blonde hair, swatting the pesky bangs to the side where they belonged.

*****

TWO DAYS LATER

Olivia Benson did her best not to steam into Novak's office.

No point in riling the young attorney up before appealing to Casey's seemingly rather limited compassionate side. Olivia knew this meeting was unlikely to go well; ever since this new case had landed, Casey had been on the warpath. The ADA's leaning toward impractical idealism was laudable in certain respects, but in the world of the Special Victims Unit, it didn't always cut it, and that meant someone had to pull her on it. Unfortunately, in this particular instance, El had been cagey, and reluctant to talk to Casey about the way she had breezed icily through the squad room, barking clipped orders, cocking those infuriatingly manicured eyebrows, and generally making an impatient pain in the ass out of her lawyerly self. That of course, left this little 'chat' up to Olivia.

Joy.

With a deep breath, she pushed the door open. Knocking was redundant, she had seen Casey look up and give her a weathered 'come-in-if-you-have-to' look before returning her olive green eyes to her computer screen.

"What?" Casey asked once Olivia was inside. She stationed herself in front of Casey's desk, opting not to sit.

"I heard you're charging Marissa Whitely with first degree murder," Olivia sounded out, getting straight to the reason she was here. Neither of the women were given to pointless small talk.

"You're damn right I am," Casey agreed tetchily, focusing not on the conversation, but instead to sentences quickly appearing on her computer screen as her slim, pianist fingers flew over the keyboard, tapping up a concerto of legalese, "arraignment will be as soon as I can get it onto the courts calendar."

"Casey, it's manslaughter, and you know it." Olivia said softly.

"She shot her husband in the head, point blank, in cold blood," Casey said passionately, finally tearing herself away from her work to pin Olivia with an unnerving gaze, "and she bought the gun especially for that purpose two days before, that's premeditated, and that is murder one."

"The man beat her within an inch of her life on a daily basis," Olivia said, "she didn't know what else to do, if she was really the heartless murderer you're making her out to be, why did she try to shoot herself straight after?"

Something seemed to click with the blonde, her deportment changed near imperceptibly, Olivia herself only noticed the strange recognition that flashed across Casey's face thanks to years spent as a police detective.

"That only goes to prove she knew that what she did was wrong," Casey said flatly, "if I plead her out, it just sends the message across the City that if someone slaps you around, it's okay to just go ahead and shoot them in the face."

"I'm not sure that's a message I wouldn't want to send," Olivia shrugged. Whilst she could see where Casey was coming from, killing was wrong, no matter who the victim, she couldn't help feeling a battered woman striking back shouldn't be punished more harshly than her former aggressor would have been had he ever been caught, just for fighting back after years of abuse.

"Luckily, the DA sees it my way," Casey said, a hint of a smirk playing about her full lips.

"She didn't have any way out Casey," Olivia said, trying one last plea.

"Well she certainly tried the easiest route," Casey said, tone mock bright, "unfortunately for her, that bullet to the head narrowly missed her vital functions, so she's facing the music, now if you don't mind, I've got work to do."

"She's got kids Casey," Olivia whispered.

The younger woman swallowed hard, a thoughtful look taking her features a moment before her hard-line, grim determination face returned.

"Marissa Whitely obviously didn't give a damn about them when she put that Ruger to her temple and tried to blast her way out of responsibility," Casey spat angrily. Olivia didn't think she'd ever seen Casey get so keyed up about a case, "she doesn't deserve to see those kids ever again. I'm taking this to court. No deals."

Olivia nodded silently and took her leave. She was by no means giving up, but she needed to confer with her partner. Perhaps he'd know why Novak was taking the case so personally. He'd certainly alluded to something earlier.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N I need to sleep, so I'll make this brief! To avoid confusion, the "PART ONE" bit refers to the section of the story, once its goes to the first of the many chance meetings between Elliot and Casey, it shall become "part two". **

**Hope it makes sense, if not, it probably will when you see it written down!**

**Anyways, review if you have a moment, it probably won't put hairs on your chest, unless you want them of course. It has a complex algorithm ….**

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**PART ONE**

**2006**

**Vendetta**

THE SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT SQUAD ROOM

Mulling it over on the way back to the one six, Olivia still couldn't figure out what had turned their incumbent ADA into an uncompromising zealot. She arrived in the emptying squadroom, slinging her tan leather jacket onto the tall, nearly nude coat-rack and joining her partner at their double desks.

"That went well," Olivia announced wearily when simply flopping down into her desk chair opposite Elliot and a few loud, deliberate sighs didn't elicit the question she desired.

"You went to see Casey?" Elliot surmised, palms rubbing at the dark stubble growth coating his cheeks, he looked distracted. And tired.

"She won't budge," Olivia shrugged, "this case has really got her rattled."

"I didn't think she would," Elliot said.

"I don't get it, we've both spoken to Marissa, she's not a cold blooded killer, she was terrified _he _was going to kill her, and her daughters, and he probably would have if she hadn't done what she did, what options did she have?"

"Police, womens refuge, family members…" Elliot began to check off on his fingers.

"El, we both know that it doesn't always work out that way," Olivia said softly.

Elliot nodded in agreement, "I know, I just think you need to look at it from Casey's point of view."

Olivia thought back to her conversation with the ADA, brows scrunching in confusion, "I don't get it; why is Novak so invested in this?"

"I've never told you about the first time I met Casey, have I?" Elliot asked, rising from his chair with a theatrical, wide-armed stretch, the contagious sort; like a yawn causing echoes from all in the vicinity. Olivia found herself knitting her fingers together, stretching her hands out in front and working her stiff shoulders.

"Yeah, you did, you played softball with her when she was still in white-collar," Olivia said, joining Elliot by the coat rack. He had shrugged on his own black wool-blend duffle and presently held out her own still warm leather number, ready for her to slot her arms into, which she did. Olivia took a moment to neaten up her collar before asking,

"Where are we going?"

"It's late, figure we could both use a drink, and besides, this is a long story, but that wasn't the first time I met Casey, it wasn't even the second time." Elliot said, with an ominous smile. Now Olivia was intrigued, she couldn't believe Elliot had never mentioned this before, they were partners, and they spent a hell of a lot of time together. During particularly arduous stakeouts, car trips or wait-arounds, they had discussed things epically mundane, just to keep conversation going, neither had ever really perfected the art of comfortable silence. In the two years Casey Novak had been the squads go-to-gal for all things great and legal, Elliot had never thought it might be interesting to know that the two had some sort of history, one that required drinks and an evening nightspot to discuss.

As Olivia followed Elliot out of the squad room, rapt, he began his story,

"The first time we met, was back in 92'. I'd just made Detective, and Kathy was pregnant with the twins…"

**PART TWO**

**1992**

**Blame**

Embraced by a duvet and bathed in dark, serene was the appropriate word to describe the young Detective, sleeping contently next to his wife upon crisp, meadow scented sheets.

That is, until his fucking phone blared angrily, a cacophonic flare intruding upon the idyllic night,

"Stabler?" Elliot mumbled, phone pressed to his ear, barely able to articulate his own surname. He'd managed to grab the receiver before the shrill ring woke his wife, who was laid next to him. Kathy was presently expecting twins, and whilst Elliot was thrilled to be adding to his brood, at eight months, his wife's moods had turned somewhat volatile. Hormones. He had grown used to them after her first two pregnancies which had yielded his two daughters. He knew what would happen if he'd let the call awaken her, and over the years, Elliot had grown rather attached to his testicles.

Whilst Elliot had been delighted to make Detective, it had definitely meant taking on a greater commitment. As a beat cop, he did his rounds, filed his paperwork, and went home, job done. But now, his cases were a personal responsibility, and he worked in the special victims unit, where there was no such thing as a simple open and shut case. He listened as his Partner detailed a newest case to him, already on his feet, stretching to work the kinks out of his spine.

One-year-old. In a coma. Major head injury. Perp was most likely the babysitter, some high school kid, presently in custody.

Elliot glanced at the photos on the bedside, one was of his eldest child, Maureen, mere hours after she had been born. Her red complexion and scrunched up little face, minuscule hands which he had marvelled at when they had first reached up and curled around his finger. He felt a familiar simmering start in his veins, as he hung up the phone, sifting through his wardrobe for a clean shirt. This high school punk was in for a whole world of trouble.

THE SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT SQUAD ROOM

At 3am, the traffic was a breeze, and Elliot quickly found himself in his departments squad room. His Partner, Senior Detective George Harley, a portly older man with a quickly retreating shock of silver hair, was reclining at his desk, contentedly sipping a coffee as he paged through a tabloid sized paper.

"The kid's in there, thought you'd want to take the first run," Harley said, thumbing in the general direction of the station interview rooms. In truth, Detective Harley was a lazy ass, attempting to ride out the time until his retirement by delegating all his work to Elliot, which was fine. Elliot preferred to take the hands on approach.

"What do we know about this kid?" Elliot asked, shrugging off his suit jacket and rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, as was his custom prior to an interrogation. Not that he planned on roughing the kid up, it was more the implication. He meant business. Plus the large marines seal tattoo adorning his forearm did add a certain _je ne sais quoi. _

Harley shrugged his heavy shoulders, not deigning it necessary to draw his eyes from the periodical, "local kid, sixteen, got a mouth on her alright. Babysits for the Harrisons twice a week, they say they've seen her get rough with baby Connor before. Open and shut."

Elliot hoped it was that simple, "have you called the kids parents yet? You know how ADA Donnelly hates it when we interview a kid without parental consent."

Harley rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed that Elliot was keeping him from his paper, "Parent's are divorced, Dad lives out of state, Mom's busy, said we can talk to the kid."

Elliot sighed, he clearly was not going to get any useful information out of the Senior Officer, "okay, what's the kids name?"

"Oh, she's called Casey… Kovac, or Novac. Something weird and Czech sounding. Its on the paperwork."

Elliot raised his ample, dark eyebrows, "you booked her already?"

Harley shook his head, his bulldog like jowls wobbling a little, making Elliot involuntarily cringe, "nah, you know me and forms, I was hoping maybe…"

"Fine, I'll do it later," Elliot called back over his shoulder as he made his way to the interview room.

*****

The second Elliot entered the room, he was confronted by Casey Kovacnovacorwhatever. She was tall, maybe five seven or so, with an awkward lankiness that suggested the teen had yet to properly grow into her height. She had milk pale skin and shoulder length hair, red in a shade dark enough that it was close to brown, cut with bangs that fell slightly over her green eyes, which were presently pinning him in a surprisingly disconcerting, intense glare.

"I thought I was supposed to get a phone call?" The kid snapped, attempting to sound authoritative, but coming off precocious.

"You would, if you were under arrest, which you're not," Elliot said, finding the teen's simultaneous childish foot-stomping and bold assertiveness rather entertaining, "we're just having a little chat. I'm Detective Stabler."

"If this is just a 'chat'," Casey made over exaggerated air quotes, "then I'm free to leave," she said, challenging him by stepping toward the door. Elliot caught her by the upper arm, steering her back toward a the desk. She shrugged him off angrily, nailing him with a scowl that could sour milk from several hundred yards. He was faintly concerned for the squad room coffee supplies.

"We just have a few questions we need to ask you, and if everything checks out, you're free to go. How does that sound?" Elliot said, setting himself down in the seat opposite Casey. She shrugged heavily, likely realizing this 'chat' was mandatory, and no amount of sullenness would extricated her from the ugly situation.

"You already think I did it, don't you?" Casey said, folding her arms with a sigh and continuing to focus on the less than inspiring graffiti indelibly etched onto the surface of the battered old table.

"Why don't you tell me what happened, in your own words?" Elliot said. The kid looked physically harmless, however, her temper was evident, even from the uneasy way in which she sat, at odds with stillness, reversing the cross of her arms, tapping one foot to an uneven rapid beat.

"I went to baby sit for the Harrisons, like I do every Wednesday and Friday night. Connor was already in his crib. He got up a few times, I fed him, changed him, and that's it. I left at about eleven, when they came home. Something must have happened after," Casey said, "they're saying it was me, aren't they?"

"No one's saying anything," Elliot said, remaining non-committal.

"Bullshit," Casey muttered, shaking her head.

"What makes you think they're blaming you?" Elliot asked, rising from his seat and circling the teen, taking up station directly behind her, leaning against the cool grey-green wall. She didn't even bother turning to face him. She wasn't jumpy. In Elliot's experience, not jumpy generally meant not guilty, though that was far from a hard and fast rule. Sometimes it just meant they were good at playing the game. It seemed probable it was the latter in this case. From Elliot's initial appraisal of the situation, he gathered it was most likely the baby had been screaming, kid loses temper, strikes the baby, it shuts up, she figures that quietened it down, no harm done, until the parents come home, realize the baby's sleeping that little bit too soundly, they discover the head wound, call the cops. And now the kid was trying to play it cool and pass it off as a frame job.

*****

"Because I'm the only other person who was there, and they aren't exactly going to tell you they did it, are they?" Casey said, stating the obvious and letting the Detective hear her frustration. Casey thought Police detectives were meant to be intelligent, but this one was decidedly dense. Densely packed too. She couldn't help but notice his biceps straining his pale blue shirt as he crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest. He was actually kind of cute. Stupid, but cute.

Whether or not he had a nice body or eyes the colour of the sky on a clear day was irrelevant though.

What was pertinent was that she was presently being falsely accused of harming the Harrisons baby, and it seemed there was little recourse. She knew how this was going to go down. Affluent, well liked, cosmopolitan couple vs. latch-key kid from the rougher side of town, with no criminal record yet, putting her amongst the minority in her block. No prizes for where the fingers were going to be pointing.

She was up shit-creek without a paddle and a leak in her fucking canoe.

"Where's my Mom?" Casey asked. It made her feel incredibly juvenile, asking for her 'mommy', but she was scared, and even though Casey's grand plan was to go to Law School once she graduated, all her present knowledge of law came from watching procedural crime shows and her elder sibling's copious run-ins with law enforcement.

"She's busy, but she said we could talk to you for a little while," The Detective said.

"I doubt that," Casey said, shaking her head. Casey was one of five kids and she was the good daughter. The one that put her head down, got good grades, did well on the softball and soccer team, got an after school job to help her mother out with the bills. She very much doubted that she would leave her to fend for herself.

"You want me to double check with my partner," Detective Stabler asked, pacing back into her field of vision. Casey nodded mutely.

"Alright," He shrugged, ducking out the muddy green door.

*****

When Elliot left the interview room, he was immediately confronted by a young, uniformed officer with close cropped hair. She appeared flustered,

"Sir, I've got a lady in reception, mad as hell, insisting she needs to speak to Detective Harley."

"He's not at his desk?" Elliot asked, glancing across the bullpen.

"No sir," She said, taking her hat off, looking worriedly over her shoulder.

"I've not seen you around here, you new?" Elliot asked.

"Officer Benson, just graduated the academy Sir," She said, straightening up to her full height proudly. Elliot loved enthusiastic rookies, how they swelled with pride at being granted the privilege of guarding the reception desk.

"Alright Officer, send her up, I'll see what I can do," Elliot nodded. The Officer gave a curt nod and turned on her heel, an academy fresh march taking her back down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Okay, against my better instincts, there is a softball scene in this. My total lack of knowledge will likely shine through, and I thought about changing it to soccer, but I think it's sort of integral to Casey's character that she plays softball, so bleh. I have never witnessed a softball game in my life, so I've left it as unspecific as is reasonable… excuse rant = over.**

**Um… that's all I have to say on that, oh, and there shall be C/E soon, just not in this section as it would be a little on the wrong side of legal…**

**Oh, and reviewing is much appreciated, it makes me unreasonably happy much like unicorns do, but that's a whole other story better left untold…**

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**PART TWO**

**1992**

**Blame **

A few minutes later, Officer Benson returned, a small, comfortably rounded African-American lady in her company. The other woman looked to be in her mid-forties, and her deportment was that of intense outrage.

"Are you Detective Harley?" She barked out immediately. Benson gave an apologetic smile and slowly backed away, returning to her post, and most likely hoping to avoid the debacle which would shortly unfold.

"No, I'm his partner, Detective Stabler, how can I help you ma'am?" Elliot said, as genially as he could, hoping to calm the irate woman. She crossed her arms, narrowing her espresso colour eyes at him,

"You can start by telling me where my daughter is…"

Elliot touched at his chin, attempting to recall any presently running cases involving someone who might be this woman's progeny. The woman shook her head with a wry smile,

"She's about so high…" she gestured a few inches above her head, "…red-brown hair, green eyes, oh yeah, and she's white."

"Oh," Elliot said, unable to hide his confusion. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Yes, she's adopted," the woman said, "now where is my baby?"

"Just through here, can I take your name please?" Elliot said, leading the woman down the dimly lit halls to the interview room.

"Janine Novak," she barked curtly. Elliot was certain he could feel the heat of her stare, burning into the back of his neck as she followed.

*****

"Mom!" Casey said, hopping up from her seat and dashing into the arms of the lady who quickly wrapped her adopted child in a warm embrace.

"Oh, my baby girl, what've you gotten yourself into?" She whispered softly into her kids hair. She quickly took up station at the other side of the desk with her adoptive offspring, forming a council of war against Elliot. Despite the pair not sharing any genes, both had a penchant for particularly cutting glares. Perhaps it was a learnt behaviour.

"What exactly are you accusing my Casey of?" Janine asked, "and what supposed evidence do you have?" The woman clearly had experience with police procedure, and Elliot somehow doubted this was her first time in an interrogation room. Perhaps the kid had a record, or the mom herself even. Elliot mentally rolled his eyes, he very much doubted that Harley had even run a cursory search. The sooner the indolent old prick retired, the better.

"We aren't accusing anyone of anything Ma'am, we just needed to ask a few questions, the child your daughter was babysitting has been hospitalised, this is standard procedure." Elliot reeled off in neutral tones.

"First of all, Casey would never harm a baby, she's the sweetest natured kid you could ever meet, and second, why were you questioning my child without my presence? I know my rights sunshine," she said, crossing her arms over an ample chest. "I didn't roll in here on the last cart of turnips."

Shit. Elliot tried to hide his discomfort, Harley said he'd done due diligence, and now he was likely at the local coffee place, engaging in Hollywood perpetuated stereotypical police behaviour and blowing off work to consume copious amounts of coffee and hole inclusive deep fried dough snacks. Elliot was about to thrash out a hasty explanation, when the door opened a crack, and a lawyer with a sour expression popped her head in,

"Stabler, a word please?" ADA Donnelly snapped, eyes narrowed and mouth taut. This wasn't going to be fun.

"One moment," Elliot said, giving a placating smile to the furious matron.

He had barely closed the door before the attorney started,

"What the hell do you think you're doing, questioning a minor without a parent present? She actually has reason for a complaint."

Elliot sighed, "Harley said the Mom was busy and had given consent…"

"Well obviously he was mistaken, where is he?"

Elliot gave a shrug, Elizabeth's guess would be as good as his.

"Oh that's just great," Donnelly sighed, shaking her head, "what evidence do you have that the kid is our perp?"

"She was babysitting the kid when it happened," Elliot said, "parents came home, the baby wasn't moving properly, they called an ambulance, half an hour after both the parents and this kid say she went home. It fits."

Elizabeth took in the information, then cocked her head thoughtfully, "that's not conclusive, could still have been the parents, pinning it on the kids. Have you looked at them? Any priors, calls to child services?"

"I only got here about an hour ago, you'd need to ask Harley. He's certain it's this kid though."

"That would make matters easier, and god knows Harley likes things to be easy," Elizabeth muttered irritably . The Special Victims Unit Assistant District Attorney was also tiring of the lethargic older Detectives sloppy way of doing things. Understandable.

"Alright, I'll get the kids details, cut her loose, we'll do the background checks and if we get anything conclusive, we bring her back in," Elliot shrugged.

"That is, if she isn't guilty and hasn't already run. I'd have been happier if we'd waited until we had even a scrap of evidence before we brought the kid in. I'll be in my office, let me know when you have anything," Donnelly hissed, marching down the corridor, heels clicking loudly in the empty halls, "and tell Harley to call me the second he gets back in." She called back over her shoulder. Elliot winced. He had a good idea of how _that _conversation was going to go.

TWO DAYS LATER

"Strike two!" The umpire barked as the softball thumped into Casey's back, just as she moved to avoid the throw blatantly aimed at her. She swung around, frowning hard at the Umpire, Frank Kirkwood. She had only narrowly ducked the last pitch smacking her straight in the face, a pitch that Kirkwood had somehow deemed to have been legal. The fact that the Umpire happened to be the pitchers uncle of course, had _nothing_ at all to do with it.

"Seriously?" She asked, incredulous.

"Play ball Novak, maybe if you spent less time worrying what I'm doing and more time with your eyes on the ball, you wouldn't wind up getting hit," He snapped. Casey formed several replies in her head, all of which remained there as they all consisted of four letter words and variations thereof, and would thus only have served to earn her an early trip to the dressing room. Not that she wasn't headed there anyhow if she didn't hit this next one. Casey wasn't sure which was worse, being rendered unconscious by the other teams star pitchers frankly feeble lobs or striking out in the first.

She narrowed her eyes, blanking her mind to the parents and schoolmates yelling from the sidelines, the fucktard umpire, the glares of the outfielders, and the smarting from the poorly targeted last pitch.

Her only focus was the ball in the pitcher Joyce Kirkwood's hand, winding up in readiness.

She needed a.

One.

Track.

Mind.

The ball left the girls hand, hurtling through the air in slow motion, outside of Casey's batting range, but with a slight reposition, she had it lined up, and timed.

She swung with all the venom she held in her chest for the dumb ass pitcher who wasn't playing fair, the asshole detectives who had hauled her into the station and treated her like a baby-killer and last but not least, the bastard Harrison family who had incited the whole extremely inconvenient scenario in the first instance.

The bat and ball connected with a sharp crack, sending the softball rocketing across the grass expanse. Several of the outfielders immediately had to start backtracking, necks craning to follow the arc of the ball.

Perfect.

Not taking any chances, Casey let the bat thump to the dirt and took off from the home plate, her long gait easily covering the yards as she rounded the bases. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched one of the outfielders fumble and drop the ball.

She had a good chance of getting a run, if she pushed. Luckily, Casey was the fastest runner on her team.

Feet away from the home plate, Casey took to a slide just as Kirkwood (the pitcher) was about to tag her, making it by a fraction of a second. A small cheer erupted from her teams bench, and Casey, swelling with pride, was rather tempted to stand and take a bow. That is, until the Umpire yelled,

"Out!"

This had to be a fucking joke. Casey got to her feet, swatting the dirt off her pants, "are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?" She asked the umpire, who had his brows raised at her outburst, arms folded,

"Take a walk Novak, you're out," He barked, obstinate.

Casey shook her head, unable to control the anger welling up inside, "on what planet was that out, I was in, I saw it, everyone else on the field saw it, hell they could probably see it from New fucking Jersey!"

"Another word Novak and you're out of the game altogether, and the next!"

"You might wanna take a trip to the opticians before the next game…" Casey said, as she moved to walk away.

"Dressing room Novak, you're out of the game, and you're banned from the next too," He said levelly.

"Fuck this," Casey yelled, snatching her helmet off and belting it against the ground, "and fuck you!" She called back over her shoulder, already heading to the dressing room to a chorus of gasps from offended parents watching the game. Fuck them. In the back of her mind, she knew that she was her teams star batter, this was the first inning, and her coach was going to be royally pissed with her. But it was hard to see that through the red fog. She waved away who she thought was a team member approaching to placate her, only to have her path barred by the two Detectives. Casey hoped against the odds that they had only just arrived and had missed her…'dispute' with the umpire.

"Sweetest natured kid you could ever meet huh?" Detective Harley said with a knowing smirk. Apparently his partner had transcribed his conversation with her mother.

"What do you want?" Casey asked tersely, glancing about. They weren't wearing uniforms, but both men's appearances screamed cops. This wasn't something she wanted going around her school.

"We need you to answer a few questions, could you come with us please?" Detective Stabler said, catching her by her upper arm and gently steering her toward the exit. She shrugged him off.

"I thought we already did that?" She said.

"We can either arrest you right here Novak, in front of all your little school friends," Detective Harley warned, "or you can come with us and we'll wait until we get to the car park."

Casey swallowed hard and nodded, following the portly Detective and his partner.

"Hey Harley, take her to the car, I'll be with you in a second," Stabler said, heading back toward the game still in progress.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Blah, this took a while! Been busy plotting my other stories and been drawn into writing them, though I shall be sticking at this one until it's done, then I'll get to posting those. Thanks for all the shiny reviews, they do make me unreasonably happy.**

**Special unicorn coated thanks to Krystal, as ever, for putting up with my incessant mardiness and whiny writers block, and also thanks to "Future NYPD and HPB Fan" (change your name much? I'm easily confused enough dammit!) for generally reading my sometimes epically badly planned story attempts and over-inflating my ego with lovely reviews :-)**

**Anyways, on with the story…**

* * *

PART ONE

Vendetta

2006

It was a midweek evening, so their usual haunt was deader than usual. A few regulars and aging alcoholics who only ever left to sleep off their hangovers were scattered about, but instead of taking up residence at the bar as they usually did, Elliot and Olivia had stationed themselves at a secluded booth, as Olivia was keen to hear the rest of Elliot's story without perpetual interruptions from the occasionally too friendly bar staff.

"God, I can't believe I was such a Chump!" Olivia laughed, remembering her time on Reception duty. She fondly recalled waking up at ungodly times in the morning, pressing that Navy Blue uniform, ensuring she looked extra sharp, as a contrast to now, when the thought of dragging out her Dress Uniform for an Official Event evoked a dull sense of dread. She'd feigned the loss of the accompanying hat years ago.

Elliot smiled, draining the last of his beer and settling the dark brown Budweiser bottle down, "that's not true. You were an _award winning_ chump!" he soothed, a wicked smirk playing about his narrow lips.

Olivia narrowed her eyes at her partners mockery, "I'll have you know Elliot, I _did _get an award."

That wiped the smile off his face, "you got a commendation for Reception duty?"

"No," Olivia said, "the girls on the reception desk printed me off a certificate."

"Oh, my mistake, that's much more impressive, did it have a nice, bright gold star on it anywhere?" Elliot grinned.

Olivia shook her head, trying to hide her own growing smile, "screw you El."

"You still have it?" He asked. It was pinned to her refrigerator, albeit slightly worn and ragged by time.

"No," she lied, "anyway, what happened after you took Casey back to the station?"

PART TWO

Blame

1992

Elliot tossed the miniature cassette swathed in a thin plastic evidence bag onto the table in front of Casey with a faint clatter.

"What do you reckon the jury will think of that? One of the other parents was recording the game, caught the whole thing. Said it wasn't the first time either, " Elliot said, nodding down at the item. The rage had drained from the teen and she appeared wrung out, eyes to the ground, arms folded protectively, fidgeting with her sleeves.

"I was in," She shrugged, half-heartedly. Elliot nodded to Harley. He had to admit, the kid was right: she was in. Even he had seen it from halfway across the field. "Is my mom on the way?" the girl tacked on sheepishly. She seemed ashamed to be asking.

"Look…" Harley said, his voice sinking low, gaining a sombre timbre as he placed his palms flat on the table, leaning his hulking form in toward the girl. She wrinkled her nose slightly. Elliot wasn't surprised, his partner wasn't the most aurally pleasing individual, and even the subtle hint of a deodorant and aftershave gift pack for his recent birthday hadn't given the elder Detective a clue.

But this routine, Elliot had seen before. Far too often for his liking.

"…Casey," Harley said softly, "you don't _have _to call your Mom. It'll look better if you don't. Listen. I know you've been saying you didn't do it, and maybe you didn't," he shrugged, "we don't know."

"What are you talking about?" Casey asked, puzzled.

Harley gave his kindest smile, he was really selling it now, "look kid, you know this don't look good for you, but if you just write us a statement now, you're a kid. If you own up, they'll go easy on you. You'll be out in time for graduation. But if you don't say you did it, and they jury still finds you guilty," Harley let out a dramatic whistle, "they ain't gonna have any sympathy, hell, you'll be lucky to see New York again before you've closed thirty…"

Elliot had heard enough, "Detective, can I have a word? Outside if you don't mind."

Harley shot him a death glare, he hated to be interrupted when he was working a suspect. The kid didn't look to be buying it, but Elliot didn't want to take any chances. He pushed the door open, pointing into the hall with his forehead until the Senior Officer grudgingly followed his lead.

"What are you doing?" Elliot asked, once the interview room door was shut with his partner on the other side of it.

"Getting our confession, I nearly had her there Elliot!" Harley snapped, aggravated that Elliot had halted his barely veiled coercion. Now Elliot wasn't exactly a 'by the book' sort of Detective, but still, he definitely wasn't down with scaring a possibly innocent teen into a confession.

"And without mommy or a lawyer present, it wouldn't be admissible anyway," Elliot said, even though that was his smallest problem with the other Detectives behaviour.

"Fucking procedure," Harley said, waving dismissively.

"But even still, we gotta follow it, you go call Mrs. Novak, I'll try a different approach," Elliot said. Harley muttered a few choice epithets, before trundling down the hall. Elliot made a brief pit-stop before rejoining the young suspect. When he swung the door open, Casey looked up from the desk, surprised. Her nose had taken a light pink glow and her olive green eyes glistened with crystalline tears. When she realized Elliot caught her, she quickly choked back the sniffles, surreptitiously dabbing at her nose with a sleeve.

Elliot would have to have been made of stone not to feel sorry for the kid, "hey," he said softly, placing a freezing, still condensation glazed can of _Coca-cola_ before the her on the table. She forced a wry smile,

"Thanks, because popular, mass-produced, sugar laden, caffeine enhanced, canned beverages really make being accused of shaking the life out of a baby _all _better." Casey muttered, managing to only sob/hiccup once during the elongated sentence.

"Well that's a lot of adjectives," Elliot said playfully, trying to coax a smile out of the young woman.

"I get wordy when I'm stressed," Casey said, reaching for the candy-apple red can, and tentatively thumbing the ring pull.

"You should think about becoming a lawyer," Elliot said absently, thinking on the all the veritable English language lessons he had wound up on the receiving end of courtesy of ADA Donnelly.

He actually managed to elicit a half-smile from the red-head, or at least a tiny tug at the left corner of her mouth, "funny you should say that."

Elliot slid a white, blank sheet of A4 paper in front of her, "hey, think you could place your hand on that for a second?"

"Why?" Casey asked, jade eyes wary, though in the limited light of the interrogation room, they appeared almost sable.

"Humour me," He said, flashing his most charming smile. It worked. She placed one pale hand on the desk, splaying slim fingers. He withdrew a biro from his pocket, and held her hand in place as he traced a quick silhouette.

"Are we going to colour it in next?" The girl asked.

"Maybe later," Elliot said, sliding the paper into his folder. At that moment, the intercom sounded its robotic crackle.

"Stabler." His name was a gruff sound.

"One second," Elliot said, getting up from the desk, snatching up his folder and joining Harley outside.

"Mom's on the way, along with some bleeding heart lawyer from a local firm taking the case pro bono, how'd you get on?" Harley asked.

Elliot slipped the tracing of Novak's hand out of his folder, "I've got this to run this by the forensic guys. If it measures up, I think we got ourselves a case."

Harley nodded, "yeah, that along with the plane tickets and the wifes testimony. Donnelly wants to try the husband for conspiracy, and stat rape, if we can prove it."

"I think that's the right call," Elliot agreed.

*****

ONE HOUR LATER

Elliot had just returned from the crime lab, results in hand. It was a match, and meant his hunch was right. And that it was time to bring in Lucas Harrison to face the music alongside his young partner in crime. Before Elliot could announce the good news to his Partner, who was lounging at his desk, watching some football game on the squad room television normally reserved for reviewing video evidence, a familiar, power-suited figure breezed into the squad room on stiletto heels and a wave of practiced indignation,

"Where is my client?" She asked. Judge Mary Conway-Clark wasn't a regular fixture around the Special Victims Unit squad room. She was most often found mediating cases, not arguing them.

"How can I help you Judge?" Harley said, immediately hopping to his feet and buttoning his jacket over his rounded middle. Perhaps he thought he had a shot with the Judge. Whilst she was north of forty, she was still more than a decade the junior of Harley. Not to mention the fact that his Partner wasn't exactly a catch, and even approaching middle age, Judge Conway-Clark had a way of turning heads. Waves of dark brown hair with eyes to match, a slim figure and classical good looks, hell, even Elliot took notice when she was at the bench.

"Oh, I'm not here in my capacity as a Judge," She said briskly, "I'm here to defend an innocent girl you're holding on bogus charges."

"You here about the Harrison's case?" Harley surmised.

"Casey's mother called me," Mary nodded, "told me you were accusing her daughter of shaking a child into a coma. Casey baby-sits for my two kids. This kid wouldn't so much as squish an insect."

"You might change your mind when you take a look at our evidence," Elliot said.

"Which I trust was all obtained properly and legally according to procedure?" She challenged.

"You're clients in there, Donnelly's on her way over, I think she'll cut your kid a deal if she flips on her co-conspirator."

"And who might that be?" Mary asked with a frown of confusion.

"Lucas Harrison, the baby's father." Harley grinned.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN Sorry it's a short one, trying to get back into the swing of writing after many time consuming events!**

PART TWO

Blame

1992

Lucas Harrison's jaw hung slack as Elliot slid the Xeroxed papers in front of him.

"Cosy little place, don't you think?" Elliot said, tapping his index finger on the estate agency advertisement. On the table next to it was a signed lease document for said property, initialled and signed by none other than Lucas himself.

"I've never seen this place in my life, where did you get these papers from?" Lucas stammered out, eyes darting back and forth over the text, fingers brushing over the glossy ink of his signature. Lucas was a compact man, 42, about 5'10 maybe, with wide shoulders, and short, deep brown hair so neatly kept and sideburns so meticulously precise he likely frequented a barber more than most. The lines drawn from his nose, framing his mouth suggested plentiful smiles, and the laughter lines arcing out from the corners of his pale blue eyes also spoke to a relatively trouble free life, up until now of course.

"Your little home office, which your wife was happy to give us permission to search, also, how do you explain these?" Elliot asked, tossing two plane tickets onto the table.

"Hawaii?" Lucas said, puzzlement evident with uplift in intonation at the end of the word and he scrutinized the two tickets printed with his name and that of the teenage babysitter Casey.

Elliot crossed his arms, cocking a smile, "yeah, you know, beaches that go on for miles, palm trees, coconuts, hula girls…lower age of consent…"

"What are you talking about?" Lucas stammered out, "I've never seen these tickets, I've never even been to Hawaii, and why would I take our babysitter there?"Elliot leaned close to the mans ear, lowering his voice, "come on Lucas, I know how it is. You've been with her since high school, everything's wonderful. Next thing you know, she's pregnant, you tell her she's beautiful but it's not the same… she's sore, she's tired, always looking after the baby, she doesn't want anything to do with you. Then along comes this pretty little teenager, you know you shouldn't be looking, but how can you help it, huh? And then she starts teasing you, tempting you, how could you resi…."

Lucas jumped abruptly to his feet, glaring at the Detective, his face flushing red, "you're sick! And wrong, I never did anything with that girl! Never."

"Really?" Elliot asked, keeping his calm, though he was glad to see he was getting a rise out of the man.

*****

"Then explain this…" Harley barked, tossing a stack of photographs onto the desk in front of the beleaguered teen. Whilst his Partner Stabler took care of interrogating the Husband, Harley was working on the kid. Luckily, the new evidence made a confession a nice to have, not an essential for the conviction.

Still, Harley couldn't deny that the girl spitting a confession would simplify things, and it never hurt to exercise his well honed interrogation muscle.

The redhead swallowed audibly as she flipped through the glossy prints, "when were these taken?"

Harley smiled, taking the photos himself, tossing them onto the desk sequentially, the smooth photo paper skimming along and nearly gliding off onto the floor, "I think you'd be better placed to answer that Miss Novak, tell me, exactly when were you and Lucas Harrison at the mall, at a coffee place at the library…or better yet: Why?"

The young woman gave an innocuous shrug, guileless wide green eyes pinning imploringly into his, the girl was a natural, "we were just talking."

"About?" Harley queried.

"Stuff," Novak answered firmly, as though that settled the matter.

"Listen up kid, 'stuff' ain't gonna cut it here, and don't think for one second I believe you were just 'talking'," Harley growled, slightly put out that his amping up the aggression did not seem to phase his suspect at all. Not being able to even scare little girls likely meant that his intimidation skills were waning somewhat.

"I know what you're implying," Novak sighed, rolling her eyes as though he was the dumbest human being she'd had the displeasure of discourse with, "but it wasn't like _that_. Lucas is a good guy. At least I thought he was. He listened to me."

"Maybe I could buy that," Harley said, drumming his fingers lightly on his chin, "that is, if I we hadn't uncovered the title deeds to your little 'love-nest'."

He placed the title deed, his gambit, down in front of the now speechless teen.

*****

Elliot emerged from the interrogation room to find his partner Harley already at his desk, coffee in hand. Perhaps the he'd had more luck wringing a confession from the girl. Despite a boat-load of evidence, Lucas Harrison wasn't playing ball, and had lawyered up.

Not a good turn of events overall, but worse still was the niggling doubt eating at Elliot's stomach.

"Hey Stabler, any luck?" Harley asked.

Elliot shook his head resolutely, "Lucas is sticking to his guns, says he knows nothing about it. I don't know," Elliot crossed his arms, glancing up thoughtfully, "you don't suppose someone could be setting him up…" he started before his partners irritated sigh cut through his ponderings.

"Elliot, these guys are smooth, you could catch them in the act and they'd just claim their clothes fell off and then they tripped, seriously, don't buy into it," he reamed, rolling his eyes at the younger Detective. Elliot let it slide. Harley did have more experience, and besides, arguing with him rarely yielded fruitful results.

"So what's the plan?" Elliot asked.

"I'll talk to the wife," Harley said, "she must have had some idea about what was going on between the two if she hired a PI to tail her husband and take those shots. You do a background on the kid, see if we've got anything on her."

Elliot nodded, settling in at his desk for a long day of fact-finding.

*****

"Everett," Elliot announced. Casey looked up from the table at the younger Detective who had just entered. At least it wasn't the old guy. Detective Harley seemed to think he was playing a role in a procedural crime show with his convoluted long speeches, dramatic pauses and overplayed table-thumping for emphasis.

Elliot continued, "Cassandra Everett; that was your name before you were adopted, right?"

"So?" Casey shrugged, voice wavering slightly. As far as she was concerned, she was Casey Novak, she became her at ten years old and there was nothing before that.

In her mind, Cassandra Everett was dead.

"Must've been hard," Elliot said, his eyebrows flexing up sympathetically, though she wasn't sure if it was genuine or another tactic.

She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, knowing where this line of questioning was going, "what?"

"Dealing with what happened."

Casey chewed her lip slowly, wondering how much he knew. He likely knew everything. She was a high school student, and even she could have gone to the library and pulled the newspaper microfilms of that day. July 4th, 1984. The date had been seared into her memory the same way her plimsoles had adhered themselves stickily to the porch that day with the heat of the flames licking up to the sky from her family home.

She had returned home from the fair that day to find the burning spectacle and tried to run inside. Neighbours, stood out on their street, morbidly transfixed had quickly caught sight of her and pulled her away while they waited for the firemen to come. After a few more thwarted attempts to run inside, she had sat in the garden, strangely transfixed as the fire consumed the wooden structure.

In her thoughts, Cassandra Everett was reduced to ashes in that fire along with her childhood home and both her parents.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Okay, so I fail at life! Here is an update, I realize it's more backstoryness, but it's kind of needed to explain things. And I reserve the right to be a shitty writer, having been deprived of coffee and sleep the last few days! And also being deprived of a certain someone who needs to change their sleep pattern to coincide with mine, regardless of the inconvenience it would cause. You know who you are…**

**Ahem. **

**That out of the way, enjoy. I now have full internet access and thus shall update in a far more timely manner! And that goes for my other fics too. Oh yes, and sending me shiny reviews makes me very happy…**

* * *

PART TWO

Blame

1992

"Fuck you," Casey bristled impulsively, only just managing to catch herself before adding 'and the horse you rode in on'.

"Excuse me?" The Detective said, cocking his head and raising his darkly drawn brows in surprise.

Casey swallowed hard as the realization struck her that she had just cursed vehemently at a police officer. A police officer who was presently questioning her about the particulars of a serious crime.

"I don't want to talk about that," Casey muttered, keeping her voice admirably steady, though beneath the table she displaced the pent-up nerves, tapping an incessant staccato against the table leg with her red all-stars.

"I can understand that, it wasn't the best time of your life," Elliot said gently, leaning back against the table.

"Then why do we have to talk about it?" Casey asked.

"Because it might go a little way toward explaining what happened here," Elliot said, trying unsuccessfully to capture her gaze which she'd directed to the safe inertness of the wall.

Casey emitted a long, deliberate sigh, "how so?"

Elliot flattened his palms on the table, leaning in toward the girl, "come on, you lost your Father when you were eight, a nice couple adopted you, then nine months later, Daddy number two walks out, you can't pretend that had no effect on you…"

Casey shut her eyes. The Detective really had dug deep.

It was moderately unnerving, having your life story recounted by a stranger; it was a twisted parody of "This is your life".

*****

_Back then, she had been a whole other person, a terrified pale, sickly kid, singled out by the bigger kids as an easy target. Mortally petrified of the staff, and any potential adoptive parents who came to the home. _

_By ten years old, she had just about resigned herself to living out her childhood in the cluttered, impersonal children's home when Shannon arrived._

_Shannon was eleven, had been in and out of the system since two years old when her mother had left her outside a police station without so much as a note._

_Saying that had left a chip on her shoulder was an understatement akin to calling the Grand Canyon a pothole. _

_She was a short kid, with a shock of jet black hair, coffee coloured skin, paired with eyes dark enough to be mistaken for black, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose; they gave her a very warranted mischievous look. _

_As soon as she arrived, she gave the staff hell. Bedtimes were summarily ignored, any requests for her to assist with the chores divided up between the kids there were met with either outright refusal, or subsequent chaos (the one and only time she'd been entrusted with laundry duty, the fire brigade had to be called out to unflood the entire ground floor…)_

_Understandably, Casey had been keen to avoid this troublemaker, after all, even the seemingly nicer kids at the home picked on her. She wasn't about to take her chances._

_Then one day, whilst Casey was hiding out in her lower bunk, paging through a Jane Austin novel (as was her custom when the other kids were out playing), she felt someone sit on the end of the bed._

"_Hi," Shannon said, stretching out a hand. Casey cautiously placed her tome down, reaching out to offer a limp handshake; not accustomed to the adult greeting._

"_Hi," Casey replied, voice nearly cracking on the single syllable._

"_My names Shannon, but people call me Shay," she said, unperturbed by Casey's rabbit-in-headlights look, "what's your name?"_

"_Cassandra," Casey said, "people call me…um. Cassandra."_

"_Cassandra's a shit name," Shannon concluded, "how do you feel about…Cassie?"_

_Casey wrinkled her nose, she'd always hated that contraction of her name, "uh, I guess," she murmured all the same, after all, she didn't want to offend this girl who had mysteriously decided to speak to her._

_Shannon smiled, popping her a light punch on the shoulder, "bullshit, you hate it, I can tell. Don't just agree with people. That's how you end up getting fucked over."_

_Casey wrung her hands, shyness flooding her cheeks with a deep blush, "um, well, I think Cassie is kinda shit." The curse came out stilted and awkward, she wasn't accustomed to swearing. Her parents had never allowed her to so much as say 'ass' (which confused her, considering they could both turn the air blue in a moments notice when they had even a minor disagreement)._

_Apparently she'd given the right answer, Shay smiled, then turned thoughtful, "alright, you don't like Cassie. Aren't too many other options really…" She cast her dark eyes about, thinking deeply, before the proverbial light-bulb appeared above her head and she suggested, excitedly, "Oh! How about….Casey?"_

_Casey considered it for a moment before nodding, "I think I like that…"_

_In the two months that followed, Shay appointed herself Casey's mentor. Whilst she'd gotten into trouble a few times (Shay had been unanimously blamed for Casey's change in behaviour, in particular her 'increased' vocabulary, and new found propensity for high jinks ), Casey was just glad to finally have a friend. Shay even called Casey her 'Sister from another Mister'. _

_Inevitably, the day came when the home managed to place one of them with new parents._

_Everyone had been surprised that it was Shay._

_Shay had cried the entire week before, insisting she wouldn't leave. Casey was sad, but at the same time glad that her friend had found new parents, and had pushed her to go and not to worry. Casey had survived two years in the home before Shay had arrived. She could do it again._

_The day came for Shay to leave, and she was in the room she shared with Casey, midway through unpacking the bags the staff packed for her for the forth time when a voice snapped._

"_You must be Shannon. I'm Janine and this is Thomas. Just what do you think you're doing?" _

_Shay had started at the womans' strong tone, but turned around to face her new potential parent, staring up at her,_

"_It's Shay. And I'm staying right here. Unless you agree to my terms."_

_Janine smirked at the precocious demand, "and just what are your 'terms'?"_

_Shay turned, grabbing Casey by a wrist and jerking her up from the bed, "this is Casey. She goes where I go."_

_Janine cocked an eyebrow, turning to her husband Thomas, "now sweetheart, when the carers here said you could bring some of your things to your new home, I'm sure that's not what they meant…"_

"_You'll like her," Shay assured the woman, "she doesn't make much noise, and she's not very demanding." She added. Then, leaning in to Casey (who stood wide-eyed shocked by the events transpiring), she whispered "you could sell yourself a little better…"_

_Janine stroked her chin, looking between the two girls, "Casey, do you want to come with us?" She asked, kneeling slightly to get level with the younger girl._

"_Um…yeah, if that's okay with you," Casey stammered out. _

_Janine stared for what seemed like forever before standing up and turning to her husband,_

"_Okay Thomas, I guess it's two-for-one day…we better trade that single we bought for a bunk-bed." _

_Casey and Shay had joined a chaotic household, the Novak's already had two boys at home, and shortly after they adopted yet another boy, bringing their family to seven. _

_Thomas worked on the railway, maintenance work mostly, and Janine worked at the local laundrette. Their house was small, Casey and Shay had to share a room, and all three of their adoptive brothers shared another, but compared to the crowded Children's home where Casey had spent two years, it was a mansion. _

_Janine told Casey later that God must have given her those big green eyes especially, knowing she'd need them. Janine credited those pleading jade orbs with scoring Casey her new home that day._

_Janine loved kids, and despite her limited means, wanted to look after as many as she could reasonably take in. As a child, she'd lived in a children's home from age 3 to 18 when she aged out. She figured a poor, cramped family was better than no family at all. And at first, her husband Thomas had agreed, eagerly supporting her throughout. _

_Then one day, around nine months after Casey and Shay had been adopted, he packed his belongings and left. Without so much as a goodbye. Casey never saw him again. _

*****

Elliot continued, snapping Casey from her reverie, "…he's a nice older guy, he takes an interest, he wants to know what you're doing at school, he plays catch with you…all the things you missed out on growing up without a Dad…then it becomes something more…"

Casey shook her head, letting out an exasperated sigh, "I already told you…"

Elliot put a hand up, "hear me out. Okay?"

Casey rolled her eyes and the Detective took it as a signal to continue,

"Alright, so things become serious between you, everything's great, it's a big fairytale come true, and then suddenly, Lucas throws up an obstacle: he'd love to run away with you to Hawaii, hell, he's even bought a place out there. But what about Connor? So you get scared, you know the only way for you two to be together is with Connor out of the picture, you aren't thinking straight, and you act. Does any of that sound plausible to you?"

"You lost me at Hawaii," Casey said flatly.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Short update, but I needed to get started on this again! I shaaaaaall update again soon, and hopefully it will all get a little less confusing!**

**And remember, reviews are one of your five a day :-)**

* * *

**PART TWO**

**1992**

**Blame**

Things were not going well.

The hard metal of the cell cot dug into her shoulders as Casey stared sleeplessly at the grey, pockmarked ceiling and the thin, scratchy fabric of the blanket she'd been issued was scant protection against the cold. She guessed warmth was considered too good for convicts.

Well, technically, she wasn't a convict; she had yet to be 'convicted' but she had been indicted for assault and thus was enjoying the hospitality of a juvenile facility. Bail hadn't been set too high, but she had insisted her Mom didn't get her out, money was tight, and her mother, despite her vigorous protests, couldn't afford it.

Though after lights out, listening to the raucous shouts, rattling doors, occasional screams, Casey was beginning to regret her own valour.

Just as exhaustion was beginning to settle in, dragging her into sleep which had seemed desperately elusive due to the racing of her thoughts, a room shaking knock sounded on the cell door.

"Novak! Get up!" A burly female guard barked in an unsettling baritone. Kicking the blankets off, Casey wearily rose to her feet. The door swung open, and the Guard nodded down the hall. "your fairy godmother's here to rescue you."

*****

"Welcome to the family!" Shay said, clapping Casey on the shoulder.

As it turned out, her sister, unbeknownst to their mother, had snuck out to bail Casey out.

"Thanks, I feel all warm inside," Casey said, crossing her arms, but reserving the glare. Shay had trekked all the way out there in the middle of the night, and whilst she was slightly pissed at her sister for her strident attitude, she was also unspeakably grateful, "how'd you raise the money to bail me out?" she asked, as the reception clerk sifted through boxes, attempting to locate Casey's belongings.

Shay shrugged, "a few hours on a street corner."

"So you're getting paid for it now?" Casey jibed, earning herself a playful shove. Her sister wasn't really in the business of hooking, but her morals were a little more…flexible than Casey's.

"Glad your incarceration hasn't damaged your sharp wit," Shay said, "anyhow, apparently _I'm _not the family slut…why didn't you tell me about you and Mr Harrison?"

"Because there _was_ no me and Lucas…"

"Oh, so it's Lucas now…

"Will you shut up for a second? Nothing happened, everything just got screwed up somehow, and I don't know what to do."

"So you didn't..." Shay started.

"No," Casey said, with finality.

"Well, this lawyer chick Mom found is supposed to be pretty good, she'll get you off," Shay said. Whilst Casey herself was a law abiding citizen, the same could not be said of Shay. She'd been to juvy a couple of times, nothing major, shoplifting, vandalism. But this was a whole new experience for Casey, and then there was the fact that…

"Someone is setting me up," Casey explained, "there were forged papers, and photos…I'll tell you about it on the ride home."

*****

Elliot was sat in the SVU bullpen, eyes straining to focus on the computer screen as he typed up his reports. He'd amassed a backlog through sheer avoidance, but now the captain was on his back and admin was no longer optional.

On the upside, he'd get a hell of a lot more shut eye on the all-nighter he'd have to pull to finish up than he would at home with his newborn adorably screaming up a riot the second his head hit the pillow.

Without warning, a voice sounded behind him and he started, he hadn't even realized someone had walked in,

"Stabler, we're dropping the assault charge against the Novak kid," ADA Donnelly said, taking the empty seat opposite him.

"New evidence?" Elliot asked, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to rouse himself.

"No," the Lawyer said, her expression grim, "we're charging her with manslaughter, baby Connor had a stroke. He passed away in the hospital an hour ago."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N I know, this took a long time! I needed to get all my plot stuff organized! Thank you for the reviews though, and patience. I shall have this story all completed soon (hopefully!)**

* * *

**PART TWO**

**Blame**

**1992**

"But I didn't do it!" Casey yelled despite herself, pacing the tight space of the police station interview room anxiously.

Mary Conway-Clark rubbed at the tension in her temples, "Donnelly, can I have a moment to confer with my client?"

The ADA got to her feet, giving a subtle nod, "of course. Don't deliberate too long though, this is a one time only offer, and you should consider it a gift," and with that, she exited the interview room, leaving Casey, her lawyer and her mother alone.

Janine, Casey's mother, was first to speak up, "I know my daughter, she did not do this, and I can't believe you're even considering this!"

"For what it's worth, I don't think she did either , but the police have enough evidence to convict. If I take this before a jury and lose, the maximum sentence for second degree manslaughter is 15 years. We got a major stroke of bad luck with the trial Judge, Judge Dayton lost a child to cot death a long time ago, but it still affects her sentencing. I don't see her giving less than eight."

Casey slumped back into her seat, "maybe I need to get a better lawyer," she muttered.

Mary shot her a glare, "you know what? Fine, maybe the jury will acquit. Then again, they've got motive, means and opportunity all wrapped up, do you really want to take that chance? Take the deal Casey, do the three years, you'll be eligible for parole in one and a half, you might be out before your 18th birthday. You can get on with your life."

"Get on with my life, as a convicted murderer," Casey said absently.

"Do you really want to see out your thirtieth birthday behind bars?" Mary asked.

Fifteen years. Casey sunk lower as the reality began to sink in. It was the whole of the time she'd been alive over again, nearly.

"What are my chances if I go to trial?" Casey asked quietly, even as her mother scowled at her. Her mother had been dead set against the deal ever since ADA Donnelly had tabled it, but her mother wasn't a jury. They would just see a cranky teenager with rage issues, having a sordid affair with a man twice her age, left alone with a child, who promptly suffered life ending injuries whilst in her care. Hell, even Casey herself couldn't see another explanation.

Mary shrugged, "of an acquittal? I'd say about the same as a snowball's in hell: if you're lucky."

Casey swallowed at the poor odds. She wasn't a gambler, she never had been, "what do I have to do?"

"I'll get Donnelly back in here, tell her we'll accept the deal, she'll schedule a court date to accept the plea, and it'll all be over,"

Her Mother grabbed her arm, squeezing tight, "no baby, don't do this, they'll see you're innocent, they have to."

Casey got to her feet and wrapped the crying woman in a brief embrace, "no Mom, they won't. I'll be okay," then, turning to Mary, she said "lets get this done."

*****

"Cassandra Novak, you are hereby sentenced to 3 years in…" the Judge droned out, though Casey was barely listening. She already knew what was going to happen. All she could hear was the muted sobbing of her mother in the gallery, her adopted siblings sitting along side, stoic and dressed like they were attending a funeral. The night before, they had thrown a somewhat sombre party in her honour. Shay had tried to lighten the mood, goofing around, making way too early jokes about prison showers, but even her usually infectious sense of humour had failed to raise a smile from any of the Novak household.

Once the sentencing was over, Casey turned to her family, miming a her goodbye before the bailiff marched her away to begin her new life. The whole hearing had gone fast, but she knew the next three years would be the longest of her life.

*****

ADA Donnelly walked into the buzzing special victims unit bullpen, swiftly locating Detectives Stabler and Harley at their joint desks. Stabler was thumbing through a thick manila file, while Harley wrote lethargically, a steaming cup of black coffee occupying his other hand.

"Detectives," She greeted, when neither of the men clocked her presence. Stabler looked up from his file.

"Elizabeth," Stabler nodded.

"I just got back from the hearing, the Novak kid took the plea, case closed," she stated, somewhat proudly.

"What? We hadn't finished our investigation?" Stabler said. Liz frowned. She was expecting some form of gratitude for reducing their ever increasing caseload.

"What's there to investigate?" Harley muttered, "another perp's behind bars, job done."

"I thought our job was to get the right person behind bars, not just lock up anyone we can to get our closure rate up," Stabler frowned, his thick brows knitting together.

"I pled that girl out on the evidence _you_ collected, so don't start blaming me," Liz said, bristling at the younger detectives attitude.

"It's done Elliot, move on," Harley concurred before returning to his paperwork. Stabler shook his head, clearly having more to say but keeping it to himself. He slid open his desk drawer, tossing the file carelessly inside. Several papers slid over the back end of the drawer, skittering down into the dark recesses of the file cabinet. The Detective bit out a curse, but made no attempt to retrieve them, likely because doing so would require physical disassembly of the cabinet.

*****

**PART ONE**

**Vendetta**

**2006**

"How have I worked with Casey for two years without knowing any of this?" Olivia said, stunned by the story Elliot was weaving, and halfway concerned he was bullshitting her and taking advantage of her increased gullibility after a few beers.

Elliot shrugged, "it's not the sort of thing you want to shout about, I wonder if those missing papers are still somewhere in the back of my filing cabinet…"

"What file were they from?" Olivia asked.

"Casey's family, the arson homicide, I was re-reading to check I hadn't missed anything,"

Olivia looked around. It was drawing near to closing time and she and Elliot were the only ones left in the bar, garnering several glowers from the bar staff who probably wanted to close up.

"Maybe we should go check it out," Olivia said, hopping to her feet.

"Sure, I don't have anywhere else to be," Elliot sighed. Olivia knew better than to question his statement. He and Kathy were over, and Elliot wasn't the 'talk it out' type. She'd let it go and instead just do her best to occupy him, take his mind off matters. That and she really needed to hear the rest of his story,

"So, Casey went to jail, then what?"

**PART TWO**

**Blame**

**1992**

"Novak, visitor, move your ass," The guard barked, coaxing the teen out of her cell. Casey got off her bunk, puzzled. None of her family had said they were coming around, and her school friends hadn't stuck around since she had copped to killing a baby.

"Who is it?"

"Do I look like your secretary?" The guard asked, turning her around and placing the cuffs on extra tight and leading her by an arm down the main walkway.

Once they were in the visiting room, which looked like a strange facsimile of an indoor picnic park, the guard led her to a table, one side of which was occupied by Detective Stabler.

*****

Elliot watched as the girl trudged in, dragging her feet, and frowning at him intensely once she realized he was her visitor. Though the girl had only been inside for a couple of weeks, she looked different. Her red-brown hair was tugged back in a half hearted ponytail, stray locks framing her face and partially covering a nasty looking butterfly stitched cut above her left eye. Her dusky grey prison overalls hung from her thin frame awkwardly, the baggy pants settling low on her hips and prompting her to repeatedly tug them up to avoid losing them completely.

"What do you want?" She asked, instantly on the offensive as she took a seat. He couldn't blame the kid for being pissed, after all, he had helped put her in here.

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions," Elliot said softly.

"What else do you need to know? I pled guilty, I'm in prison, isn't that pretty much job done for you guys?"

"I like to be thorough," Elliot said, deliberately ominous. Whilst he wasn't sure about Casey's guilt, he wasn't certain of her innocence either. He was visiting without his superiors knowledge, the last thing he needed to do was give too much information to the kid and have her blab it to her lawyer. If the conviction got overturned because he managed to raise reasonable doubt, his ass would be over the coals.

"While you were babysitting, is there anything you remember, anything strange. Maybe something you and Lucas talked about…"

Casey frowned, "look, there was no 'pillow talk', there was nothing perverted about it. Lucas was like the Dad I never had, and I was like the daughter he never got to see grow up…"

"Wait a minute, Lucas has a daughter?" Elliot asked.

"Had. I thought the police checked this sort of thing?"

"What happened to her?" Elliot asked.

"I don't know, Lucas just told me he used to have a daughter, and if she was still alive, she would have been around my age. I guess that's why we bonded," Casey said.

"Time's nearly up!" The guard called from the doorway.

Elliot nodded, getting to his feet, "thanks for your time, I'll be in touch."

"Don't bother," Casey snapped.

"Hey, I'm trying to help you here," Elliot said.

"Your help got me in here," the girl called over her shoulder as she approached the guard, "I'm done, take me back."

*****

Elliot thanked the file clerk on the other end of the phone as he recradled the handset. Harley strolled over to the desk, a frustrated look taking his features as he read the file stationed in front of his partner,

"Elliot, the Harrison case is closed," he declared.

"Maybe not, did you know that Lucas Harrison was married to a woman named Laura Westley, and they had a daugher?"

Harley walked over to the nearby coffee machine, giving it a robust smack when the device refused to turn on, "had?"

"Yeah, the daughter, Cherie Harrison died at just 8 months, apparently the parents let her sleep in their bed, Lucas rolled over in his sleep, suffocated the poor little thing, didn't turn up initially because they lived in Canada. After that, Lucas' wife left him, he moved here."

"Tragic," Harley muttered, "but that doesn't change anything."

"I think it might, it throws motive into question, if Lucas really was just hanging out with the Novak kid over guilt about his own lost child, that throws the jealousy motivation out the window," Elliot said.

"So, the kid got pissed off, or bored, it doesn't matter why she did it, she's behind bars,"

Elliot rubbed at his eyes, stealing a glance at the calender on his desk. Only a few months now until Harley would be ready for retirement, "you think it's just co-incidence that Lucas Harrison has lost two children, under one year of age?"

Harley gave a deep sigh, handing Elliot a paper cup of black coffee, "okay, if you think the kid didn't do it, what about the tickets to Hawaii? And how do you explain the bruise marks on the babies ribcage? They matched the girls hand size near perfectly."

"But it's not an exact science, that just means someone with a similar hand size shook the baby," Elliot countered.

"Elliot, Lucas isn't a big guy, but he ain't exactly petite. His paws are still twice the size of that girls, the ME said it would have to have been a woman, or a kid."

Harley had him there. That was the one thing that didn't make sense, "okay, how about the Mom, Kim Harrison? We know she thought Lucas was cheating on her, and if he and Novak are telling the truth, she must've bought the plane tickets to set him up."

"Elliot, if you want to go on a wild goose chase to prove your crazy theories, be my guest, but normally, the simplest explanation is the right one."

"I'll take that under advisement," Elliot said, bidding the older officer farewell before heading out to attempt capture of wild geese.


End file.
